


I Believe

by hopingforaword



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Happy Ending, Happy Ending AU, Running Away, Teen Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 17:31:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6763378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopingforaword/pseuds/hopingforaword
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would have happened if Melchior got home to see Wendla before she died?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References to suicide, death, abortion.  
> Plans to run away, teen pregnancy

_ I’m going to be a father. _

Melchior Gabor couldn’t think about anything else on the entire train ride back to Aichtal, his hometown, a small city outside Stuttgart. As soon as he’d figured it out from Wendla’s cryptic letter, he’d run out of class and he hadn’t stopped moving since. He was going to run home and see Wendla and figure out what they would do next. Whatever it was, he knew it would be great.  _ I’m going to be a father. Wendla is going to have a baby _ . The train shuddered to a stop and Melchior ran out of the train and out to the more spacious area of town where his family and his friends’ families lived. His feet didn’t stop moving, even though it was pitch black out. He couldn’t see, but he didn’t need to. He knew the way to Wendla’s house like the back of his hand.

Melchior reached the back of Wendla’s house and stared up at the huge tree. He remembered climbing the tree with Wendla and Moritz and Ilse. Their parents always got so scared that they would fall, but they didn’t care. Even when they were eight their parents had never been able to control the kids. Melchior had always been the fastest. He would race up to the highest branch and look down on the entire town spreading out below him while his friends called, “Wait up Melchi!” as they scurried up the branches below him. Ilse would be up next, sitting just below Melchior or else gracefully swinging from one of the branches until Wendla would be up. Wendla always worried that they would get hurt, but that didn’t stop her from loving the view from the tree and the private world it seemed to allow. It just meant she went up slowly. Moritz had been a little gentleman from the day he was born, always insisting that the girls went up before him so he could catch them in case they fell, and so if he fell he wouldn’t hurt anyone. The girls laughed at him, because they were bigger than him and would crush him if they fell, but they allowed him this one little moment. Once they were all in the tree they could sit up there for hours, talking about school and home and grade school crushes and Melchior teaching his friends about the outside world. The world that was better than the one they were stuck in. But that had been before. Before Ilse had been kicked out, before Moritz had killed himself, before Wendla had gotten pregnant. They had grown and changed and learned and lost their innocence, but the tree was still the same. Melchior grabbed a low branch and swung himself up into the tree and began to climb up to Wendla's window. He didn't have a plan yet, he just needed to see her. He needed to hear her say it aloud. And when she did, he could hug her and kiss her and then—what then? It didn't matter. 

Melchior knocked gently on the wooden shutters of Wendla's bedroom window. It occurred to him then that it was almost midnight and Wendla might be sleeping. He started to withdraw into the tree as one of the shutters opened a little. “Who's there?” called Wendla’s soft voice through the night. 

“It's me, Melchior,” Melchior said, shifting forward in the tree again. Wendla pushed the shutter open a little farther and the moon lit her face. 

“Melchior,” she said, almost disbelieving, before her face broke into a smile. “Melchior!”

“Shhhh.” Melchior put his finger over his lips and smiled. “How are you Wendla? How's the….?”

“I'm scared Melchi. I'm really scared. My mom wants to take me to a doctor to have it–to have the baby–um….”

Melchior’s smile disappeared in shock. _They couldn't_. It was Wendla’s baby. It was  his baby. They couldn't. He wouldn't let them. He loved Wendla and the baby she would have too much for them to do that. “We’ll run away. We won't let them.”

Wendla looked down at her feet. “I want to go with you Melchi, really I do, but how do I know you'll be honest with me?”

Melchior looked at her. “I don't understand.”

“Why didn't you tell me Melchior? Before the hayloft you didn't say anything. You knew! And you didn't say….”

Melchior’s eyes widened and he took a harsh breath. “I thought you knew. Oh Wendla if I knew you didn't know I wouldn't have….I mean it wasn't right if you didn't….oh Wendla I'm so sorry. How can I fix this?”

Wendla looked at him, scanning his face. She smiled a little, a weak smile but a smile nonetheless. “Oh Melchi,” she said, “it's not just your fault.” The branch Melchior was sitting on audibly creaked and Wendla started. “Come in off that branch silly boy.”

Melchior smiled and swung himself out of the tree and into Wendla’s room. It was darker in her room than outside, but they both silently agreed that lighting a candle would be a bad idea. Melchior looked at Wendla and held her hands. “Wendla Wendla Wendla,” he said, “I have never loved anyone so much as I love Wendla.” She smiled and blushed. 

“Melchior Melchior Melchior,” she replied, “I will never love anyone so much as I love Melchior.” He smiled and took a step closer to her. She stepped toward him too. Wendla looked up at Melchior and giggled awkwardly. 

“What's so funny?” Melchior asked, faking indignance. 

“I giggle when I'm nervous,” said Wendla, looking at Melchior’s chest instead of his eyes, and Melchior’s smile vanished. 

“Don't be nervous. I won't do anything without asking.”

“I know,” Wendla said and she looked back up at Melchior’s face. “That doesn't mean I won't.” She laughed at the look of shock on Melchior’s face. He smiled and looked at her for a minute. She smiled back. 

“Can I kiss you Wendla?” 

She nodded and he leaned forward. It was a soft kiss, no more than a gentle brushing of lips, but it meant so much to them both. Melchior straightened up and looked at her, grinning stupidly. 

“I have to pack,” Wendla said, and she dropped one of his hands and sat him down on her bed. She bent down under her bed and pulled out a small bag and began to pack. She pulled out dresses and sweaters and skirts and baby clothes and folded them neatly into the bag. Melchior watched her. After about twenty minutes, all her clothes and two blankets were packed and she was looking around her room at what else she should take. 

“Should I change?” 

Melchior looked at Wendla who was wearing the nightgown her mother had given her for her thirteenth birthday about a year and a half ago. It was one of the nicer things Wendla owned. The fabric was a light blue silk and it was adorned with pink trim and buttons. Wendla looked very beautiful in this gown, but Melchior thought Wendla would probably look beautiful in his school uniform. He nodded. “Something more practical for travel. A skirt and a sweater?”

Wendla nodded and pulled a black skirt, a white blouse, and a gray sweater out of her bag. She looked up at Melchior. “Turn around!”

Melchior snorted. “Wendla, I’ve already seen all of you. You can’t honestly want me to turn around.”

Wendla crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Melchior.

“Fine!” Melchior turned around and covered his eyes. Wendla changed quickly and packed her nightgown into her bag. 

“You can turn around.” Melchior did. Wendla pulled on shoes and looked around the room. “What should I bring Melchi?” 

“It depends where we’re going,” he said and he tapped the bed next to him. Wendla sat down and he pulled her gently onto her back so they were both looking at the ceiling. “We can go anywhere Wendla. We can go to Paris or London or Moscow or Milan. Paris, city of light. London, the capital of England. Moscow, the tip of Russia. Milan. Milan! You could be a model if we go to Milan.”

Wendla turned on her side to face him. “What about New York?”

“New York? In America?”

“Yeah.”

Melchior thought for a minute. “Yeah. Yeah why not? Let's go to New York. So we’ll need money and paper and pens and…”

Wendla stood up and put things in another bag as Melchior listed them. When she had everything she needed, she looked around the room. There were figurines and one doll her mother had bought her and a small box of letters and photos. She opened the box and sighed. 

“It's not practical, but I need to remember home.” Melchior nodded and she put the box in her second bag. She sat down on the edge of her bed and looked at Melchior. “Can you write something down for me?” He nodded and she handed him a piece of paper and a pencil. 

“Dear Mama and Poppa,

“I'm sorry I disappointed you. I think the best thing for you and for me is for me to run away. I'm sorry you feel like I let you down, but I'm not sorry I love Melchior. I love Melchior Gabor and there's nothing you can do about it. So to help you and to help me and to help Melchior, I'm running away. I won't tell you where I'm going because I know you'll try to stop me, but when I get there I'll write if I can. I love you both. I hope you can forgive me. 

“Love,

“Wendla Bergmann.”

Melchior finished transcribing Wendla’s letter and folded it up. He put it on her pillow and looked at her. She stood in the center of her room, looked around for a minute and nodded. “I’m ready to go.” She picked up the lighter of her two bags and Melchior stood up. He picked up the other bag and walked over to the window. Wendla followed him and kissed him on the cheek  before he jumped back into the tree. He scurried down the branch a little and Wendla climbed onto her windowsill.

“Be careful Wendla!” Melchior whispered.

“Hush Melchi!” Wendla reached out and grabbed the branch, then jumped. Her bag swung on her shoulder as she landed in the tree, one branch above Melchior.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Can you reach the window to shut the shutters?”

He stretched forward and pushed the wooden shutters closed. Wendla climbed backwards down the tree and jumped down to the ground. Melchior landed behind her a few seconds later. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine Melchi. Stop asking that.”

“Wendla, you’re going to have a baby. My baby. I’m not going to stop asking if you’re alright until the baby is born, and probably not even then.”

Wendla sighed. “I promise I won’t be jumping out of any more trees or windows any time soon.” She paused. “We really don’t get to be kids anymore do we?”

Melchior took her hands and sighed. “No. But we’ll be so happy together we won’t even notice.”

Wendla smiled. “Where next?”

Melchior contemplated. “I have to go home and grab some stuff.”

“I’ll wait outside.”

They walked in silence to Melchior’s house. There was no tree in Melchior’s backyard, so Wendla sat behind the house as Melchior climbed through the window, crept up the stairs and shoved photos, clothes, and money into his schoolbag. He wrote a quick letter to his parents. Unlike Wendla, Melchior promised his mother he would write to her. He took one sweeping look at the room he’d lived in for all fourteen years of his life before he rushed out of the house. 

Wendla stood up as Melchior’s feet hit the ground and she pushed the shutter closed. “So how do we get to New York from here?”

“Not so fast. We still have one more place to go.”

Wendla looked at the dark look in his eyes and understood. “Moritz.”

Melchior nodded and they started walking briskly towards the graveyard. The town was silent and he could barely see Wendla’s face, but he could just make out her features from the moonlight. She looked up at him and he could see the fear in her eyes. Melchior reached out and grabbed her hand. Her palms were cold. He squeezed her hand and she squeezed back.

The church was just visible in the distance, the bell shining white in the moonlight. Wendla thought about all the hours she’d spent learning about God and receiving His grace. Since the night in the hayloft she had had the unshakable feeling that she had rid herself of salvation. All the hours of learning love and kindness and with one act of love, true love, she’d thrown it all away. They turned the corner past the church and saw the graveyard. Wendla and Melchior approached quietly and slowly.

They stopped near the edge. Moritz’s almost brand-new headstone shone pearly white against the black of the night and the gray of the older eroded headstones. They placed their three bags down and approached the headstone. Wendla knelt down and put her hands together, but Melchior stood behind her. “I don’t have any flowers or anything.”

“He wouldn’t mind,” Wendla said, “Kneel with me.”

Melchior took a step forward and knelt. They knelt there in silence, before Melchior said, “Moritz Steifel. You were a great friend. You were a great man. You were brave and funny and smart, even if the school didn’t think so. Your parents didn’t listen, as parents hardly ever do. But I swear,” he said, tears dripping down his and Wendla’s faces, “Wendla and I will listen to our child and we’ll raise it in your memory and tell your story. I swear Moritz. I swear.”

A wind rushed through the graveyard and both shivered. Years later, Wendla and Melchior would both swear they heard Moritz’s laugh echo among the stones.

“Melchior Gabor?” Melchior and Wendla jumped as Ilse’s head popped out from behind the grave, and then the rest of her followed. “I thought that was your voice. Hello Wendla!”

Melchior rubbed his eyes and shook his head, attempting to shake off the surprise of having a former classmate jump out at him from behind a grave. Wendla waved, still looking confused. “What are you doing here Ilse?”

“Same as you I expect. Just paying more respects to the dead.” She laughed. “Can you believe they wrote, ‘Beloved son,’ on his gravestone? His parents couldn’t stand him! If it wasn’t for them, he’d still be here. If it wasn’t for them he’d have a life. He’d have school and the potential for a life. A life! A career, a family, a lover…”

“I’m sorry Ilse,” said Melchior, “I’m just...sorry.”

Ilse nodded. “It’s fine. I’m sorry too. I really liked what you said at the service.”

“It’s really sick, but when I found out my first reaction was to talk to him about it. My second reaction was to slap him for being stupid.” Melchior laughed, a sharp, joyless laugh. Wendla rubbed his arm.

“We all miss him.”

“What are two respectable young teenagers such as yourselves doing out so late?” asked Ilse.

Melchior and Wendla looked at each other. “We’re running away,” said Wendla. “I’m going to have a baby.”

“Oh. Oh. Melchior’s the father?”

Wendla nodded.

“Congratulations, I guess. Where are you going?”

“New York. Any idea how to get there from here?”

“Take a train to Paris, then another train to the coast of France, then a boat to England, and then a boat to New York. Pretend you’re older than you are and whatever you do, don’t tell anyone about the baby.”

They both nodded. “You know once we’re gone, we’re gone Ilse. I don't know if we’ll be able to write. I mean, I hope so but–”

Ilse cut Wendla off with a hug. “I’m going to miss you both. Here, a parting gift for each of you, from me.” She stood up and shook out her hair as she pulled a flowery hair ornament from it. She handed it to Wendla, who stood up and hugged her again.

“Thank you Ilse.” 

From her back pocket, Ilse pulled out a black leather wallet that she offered to Melchior, who stood up and refused it. “No, Ilse, I couldn’t possibly.” He tried to hand it back to her, but she refused.

“If it helps you get out of hell and gets you to somewhere better, it’s worth it.” She kissed each of them on the cheek. “Good luck you two. I’m on your side.” And with that, Ilse turned and disappeared into the night as quickly as she had appeared.

Wendla put the flower ornament into her hair and Melchior tucked the wallet into his pocket. They stood up and placed a hand on Moritz’s headstone. “We love you Moritz,” they murmured in unison. They took one last look at the grave before they turned away and walked to their bags. Wendla picked up one and Melchior picked up the other two.

“So the train station?” Melchior asked.

Wendla wiped a tear off his cheek. “Let’s go,” she said, and holding hands, they walked into town.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Running away, mentions of suicide.

Melchior bought cheap tickets for a 1:15 train to Paris. It hardly put a dent in the money Ilse had given him. How much money was it? He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to think about all the work Ilse had given up for them. He didn’t want to think about everything and everyone they were leaving behind. It was 1:00, fifteen minutes before their train. He walked back to where Wendla was waiting for him with their bags. She was sitting on the bench and her eyes were closed. “Wendla!”

She sat up quickly. “I’m awake!” He sat down next to her.

“I bought our tickets. We get off in Paris and switch to a smaller train to a northern port city in France, then we get on a boat to England. From there we buy tickets to America. But it’s a twelve hour ride to France. You can sleep on the train.”

She nodded sleepily and put her head on his shoulder. “We’re doing the bad kind of running.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, there’s two kinds of running right? In a race, you’re running towards something. We’re running away from something. From everything.”

Melchior nodded and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “But maybe we’re running towards something better.”

“Maybe, but that’s the point. To us, it doesn’t matter what we’re running towards, only what we’re moving away from.”

Melchior sighed. “It sounds awful when you put it like that.”

Wendla nodded. “It is kind of awful. Our parents, our friends, everyone will describe as runaways.”

“But who says you can’t be running away from something and towards something else at the same time?”

Wendla paused for a minute. “You’re right, you know that? School is awful, my parents are awful, Ilse doesn’t live there anymore, Moritz is dead. The only thing left that was worth anything in that town was you, and then they sent you away to reformatory school. At least now both of us are here, finally running towards a life we deserve or at least one that’s better than this.” She laughed sharply. “It’s like we’re criminals. Running away, building new lives and new identities.”

“In their eyes we are,” said Melchior, “We broke a commandment.”

“Do you think we’ll go to hell?” Wendla asked quietly.

“I think if God really cared this much about whether or not people were sleeping together, He wouldn’t have made it so tempting.” Melchior laughed, but Wendla sat up and looked at him, frowning. He cleared his throat. “No. We won’t go to hell. We’ll be forgiven. Especially when our child turns out to be the greatest person ever.” He kissed Wendla’s forehead and the train whooshed into the station.

They boarded the train and found a place to sit. Melchior took the window seat and Wendla sat next to him, their bags tucked under the seat. The train started and they both watched in silence as their home town whipped past the train windows and they both came to a silent realization: they were never coming back. This was goodbye to the only home they'd ever known.

The conductor came around and punched their tickets. Melchior tucked the punched tickets into his shirt pocket. He leaned his forehead against the window as Wendla kicked her shoes off and curled up in the seat, her head resting on Melchior’s shoulder. “Get some rest Wendla.”

“You too,” said Wendla, “You look like you haven't slept in three days.”

"Yeah well it's hard to sleep when you're plagued by nightmares.” Melchior realized how terrible this sounded and said, “I mean I'm not plagued by nightmares I just can't seem to dream anything else.”

Wendla picked up her head and looked at him. “What will it take to convince you that Moritz’s death wasn't your fault at all?”

“Him coming back at saying it himself,” Melchior snapped.

Wendla sat up and looked at the floor of the train car. “I just want to help you Melchi,” she said softly.

He looked at her and the hard look in his face softened. He reached a hand out and rubbed her back. “I know Wendla. I'm sorry.” She leaned towards him again and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She closed her eyes.

The train rattled along in silence for a while. There seemed to be very few other people on the train, if there was anyone else on the train at all. 1:15 wasn't exactly a normal time to be traveling, which suited Wendla and Melchior just fine. After about a half hour, Wendla spoke. “What was the whole thing with Ilse?”

“Hm?”

“In the graveyard. When she mentioned Moritz she started rambling and you apologized a few times. More times than necessary. Why?"

Melchior sighed. “She was the last person to talk to him before he, um, before he died. Ilse invited him over and he said no. She feels guilty that she didn’t push him to come with her. And he was special to her.”

“Why?”

“She loved him Wendla.”

“So did you.”

“Yup. So we understand each other.”

Wendla whispered, “I loved him too.”

Melchior rubbed her shoulder. “I know you did Wendla. You loved him like a sister loves a brother. Ilse loved him like a woman loves her lover. I loved him like a twin loves a twin. Each of us has lost someone, and though it may have been the same person, he was different for each of us. But he lives on with us in our hearts. Get some sleep. I'll watch over us.”

Wendla nodded and closed her eyes. Melchior watched out the window. They were a good forty five minutes out of town. Even if one set of parents woke up, the kids had a head start and no one except Ilse knew where they were going. Melchior knew Ilse wouldn't give them up, even if she was asked. She was on their side. She wouldn't give them all that money just to turn them in.

The town was long gone out the window and Melchior tried to conjure it in his mind. He thought of it from his favorite viewpoint, sitting above it all in the tree and watching everyone go about their lives. When he finished picturing the town, taking one last look that he hadn't actually been able to take because of the darkness, he thought about the people. Wendla’s parents, who lied to her and disapproved of her relationship with Melchior. He wouldn't miss them. Wendla would miss them, but not very much. His parents, especially his mother, who had let him learn and grow on his own, but had still sent him away from home when Moritz died. He would miss his mother. All the boys from home, Hanschen and Ernst and Otto and Georg. He had missed the boys when he was away at the reform school and he expected it would be even worse halfway around the world. He'd grown up with them. Yes, he'd definitely miss the boys. Martha, Wendla’s friend. Wendla would miss her. After Ilse had been kicked out, Martha had replaced her in Wendla’s life. Ilse. They both missed Ilse already. They had grown up with Ilse. But now that she lived with the artists, they saw her so rarely. Yet she was always so kind, even if she could be a little eccentric. Ilse, who had been in the graveyard with them that night. Ilse, who had given them gifts even though she might not (probably wouldn't) see them ever again. Ilse, who had loved Moritz almost as much as Melchior had. Moritz.

The train slowed a little and Melchior dwelled on Moritz. Moritz, who had always been kind. Moritz, who worked so hard. Moritz, plagued by demons. Moritz, who had shot himself. It had been a month since Moritz had died and Melchior hadn't gone a day yet without thinking about him. He and Moritz had been friends as long as he could remember. He and Moritz and Wendla and Ilse grabbing cookies at his house, running to play pirates at Ilse’s, climbing the tree at Wendla’s. The tree was still there, but only one of the kids was. Moritz. Ilse had been kicked out, Melchior and Wendla had run away, and Moritz was stuck in the town he had hated. Beloved son. Ilse was right. His parents hated him. They weren't fooling anyone. Without his parents, Moritz might still be alive. He could've had a family, a career, a lover. He could've had a life. He could've run away with Melchior and Wendla. Instead he was stuck in the town he had always hated, buried six feet under a headstone that lied to the world about who he had been. Only they knew. The kids knew the truth. Melchior and Wendla and Ilse. He was going to keep his promise. If Wendla’s baby was a boy, they would name him Moritz. Either way they'd listen to it and tell the world about Moritz’s life.

Melchior didn't remember falling asleep, but he woke up when the train came to a stop somewhere else in Germany around 3:30. Wendla sat up too and looked out the window. “We’re not in France yet, right?”

Melchior shook his head. “It's only around three.”

“Have you slept Melchi?”

“A little.”

“Sleep more. I'll stay awake and watch our stuff.”

“Are you sure?”

She looked at his tired eyes and nodded. “Yes Melchior. Sleep.” He leaned his head against the glass pane of the window and closed his eyes as the train started again.

It was Wendla's turn to stay up and think about home. She looked at Melchior and tried to blame him for everything. But she couldn't. Wendla loved Melchior, and it wasn't his fault. He hadn't known that she didn't know. She had asked her mother and her mother had lied to her. And then her mother had wanted to kill the baby. Wendla leaned into Melchior and put one hand on her stomach. A real baby. A whole baby inside me. Wendla loved babies. And she loved Melchior. She was excited to have Melchior's baby. But she was terrified. She was only fourteen. She was barely a teenager herself, and had no idea how to practically take care of a baby. How were they going to pay for a anything? They had the money from Ilse, but how long would that last? Melchior could get a job, but what would he do? He was only two months older that Wendla and wouldn’t be fifteen for four months. She looked at him again. He looked older. He could pass for sixteen and he could work in a factory or on a farm or something. She could sew or wash or whatever she could do to support them. It might not be a good life, but with Melchior and their baby it would be a happy life.

She stood up and stretched her back, then reached down and grabbed Melchior’s school bag. He had been learning English in school, and Wendla figured if they were going to America she would try to learn as much English as she could. She pulled out his textbook and started reading. Wendla wasn't sure how the words were supposed to sound, but she thought she was getting the hang of it. She'd ask Melchior when he woke up, but for now she'd let him sleep.

After she read two lessons of English and felt her head throbbing, Wendla put the book back into Melchior’s bag. She looked in his bag and realized he had packed all his stuff, his clothes and his other possessions, into one bag while she had two. So, as carefully as she could, she pulled Melchior’s things, his books, pens, papers, photos, and a smaller bag, into the second bag she had with her possessions. Wendla looked at the clothes Melchior had brought and saw that they were all crumpled and shoved without care into the bag, so she emptied it and refolded everything neatly back into the bag. Melchior stirred and woke up.

“What are you doing?”

She closed the bag. “I was repacking everything. Each of us has our own clothes bag, and everything else is in the third bag.” She looked at his school sweater. “You should change your clothes when we get to France. You look like you ran a race in that uniform.”

“Okay. I’ll take off the sweater for now.” He pulled his sweater over his head and Wendla folded it into the bag. She tucked the three bags under the seat. Melchior wrapped his arm around Wendla's shoulder and pulled her in. “We should sleep more.”

“We can't both sleep.”

“It's four thirty. No one is going to be on the train and they're not going to steal our stuff. And we’re kids.”

Wendla nodded but she didn't look convinced.

“You should sit on my lap.”

“Why?”

Melchior shrugged. “It just seems like a good idea. Physical contact and whatnot.” He paused, then said softly, “I want to keep you safe.”

Wendla looked at him thoughtfully and nodded. She stood up and sat on Melchior's lap so her back was to the window. She swung her legs up on the seat. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer to him. Wendla leaned her head against Melchior’s and grabbed one of his hands. They both closed their eyes.

“I love you Wendla,” Melchior whispered.

“I love you too,” she murmured back. They both slowly fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

When they woke up sunlight was streaming through the windows. It was ten o’clock. They’d slept for five and a half hours. Wendla looked at Melchior, his face turned golden by the light streaming through the window. She smiled at him and he smiled back. “Can I kiss you Melchior?”

He smiled even wider and nodded, so Wendla closed her eyes and leaned into him. She kissed him once, twice, three times, each kiss swift and soft. She rested her head on his shoulder and her eyes fluttered open. “You know what I want?”

“Breakfast?” Melchior asked, opening his eyes.

“Yes!” Melchior gently pushed her off his lap as he stood up and stretched, and Wendla shifted over to the aisle seat. “Get something good, but don’t spend too much money.” He started to walk down the train. “Oh and Melchior?” He walked back to her and leaned down. “Fruit is important,” she whispered in his ear. He smiled and walked off to buy them breakfast.

Wendla settled back into her seat and thought about taking out Melchior’s English book again. When he got back, she would make him make sure she was saying the words right.

“Miss?”

Wendla looked around the car.

“Over here, across the aisle.”

Wendla turned and saw an older woman, probably in her fifties or sixties, sitting across the aisle. “Yes ma’am?”

“Is that boy your lover?”

Wendla thought. “I suppose so. Yes.”

“Well I just wanted to say that the two of you are incredibly adorable together. How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” Wendla lied instinctively, a little white lie that wouldn’t do any harm.

“I hope you don’t mind my asking, but what are you doing on a train so early?”

“Well my friend, Melchior, that’s the boy who was just here, he goes to boarding school in my town. I go to the same school but I don’t board. That’s how we met. So anyway he writes a lot of letters to his grandmother, who recently moved to Paris. He writes a lot about me, and she recently got very sick, so she asked that we both come out so she can meet me and see him one last time before she passes on.” Wendla had no idea where the lie had come from, but decided it was a well-crafted tale. Lots of children travel to see sick grandparents, and at sixteen traveling on your own is hardly an issue.

“Oh. I’m sorry. I hope things work out for you two. You’re such an attractive couple. If you ever got married and had children, they would be beautiful.”

I hope so. “Thank you ma’am. Enjoy the rest of your trip.”

“You too!” Both women turned back into their own little worlds.

Melchior returned with a paper bag of food. “I’m sorry about your grandmother,” said the woman across the aisle.

Wendla prayed that Melchior understood what was happening and would cover her lie. He looked downcast and said, “Thank you for your sympathy. I hope she recovers.” The woman nodded, and Melchior sat down next to Wendla.

“What did you get?” Wendla asked. Melchior opened the bag and handed her a warm biscuit and an apple. She bit into the apple and smiled. “I love apples.”

“What did you tell that woman and why?” Melchior asked, pulling out a biscuit for himself and taking a bite.

“She kept asking me all these questions and I didn’t want to be rude so I told her that we’re sixteen and you wrote to your grandmother who lives in Paris about me and your grandmother is very ill so we’re going out to Paris to see her in case she passes away.”

Melchior looked at Wendla in amazement before he laughed.

“What’s funny?”

“I know you don’t like to lie Wendla, but damn if that isn’t a perfect story.” Melchior laughed and Wendla half-smiled. “Did she say anything else?”

“She said we’re an adorable couple. And she said, ‘If you ever got married and had children, they would be beautiful.’ ”

Melchior laughed. “Here’s hoping.” Wendla nodded and took another bite of her apple. She leaned her head back so she was looking at the ceiling, took a deep breath, and put a hand on her stomach. A whole baby in there.

Melchior placed his hand on top of Wendla’s and said, “I know it must be scary.” Wendla turned her head to look at him and nodded. “I’m here for you whenever you need something, anything.” Wendla smiled and Melchior squeezed her hand. “I love you Wendla.”

“I love you too Melchior.” She picked her head up, leaned forward, and kissed Melchior. She smiled at him and he smiled back. “Can you teach me something?”

“What?”

She leaned down and pulled Melchior’s English book out of his school bag. “I want to make sure I’m saying these correctly.”

Melchior smiled and nodded. Wendla opened the book and spent an hour reading English words and sentences like, “My name is Wendla Bergmann.” Melchior explained the ridiculous-seeming fact that English has another letter, V, that sounds like how Ws sound in German, and that Ws in English sound kind of like Us but harsher somehow. Wendla realized that this meant people in America who read her name would say it wrong because they would assume that the English pronunciation of W was correct. She’d just have to correct them.

After the hour was up, Wendla could say, “My name is Wendla Bergmann. I’m sixteen years old and I’m from Aichtal, Germany. I speak very little English and fluent German.” She asked Melchior if they could finish the lesson for now.

“Why? You’re catching on so well!”

Wendla closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “My head is killing me.”

Melchior closed the book, put it on the seat next to him and wrapped his arm around Wendla’s shoulder. “Come here.” She leaned into him and put her head on his chest.

“How much longer until Paris?”

Melchior checked his watch. “It’s 11:15 so about two hours.”

Wendla groaned. “I just want to get off the stupid train.”

“Well I’ll distract you. What do you want to talk about?”

Wendla laid down so her head was in Melchior’s lap. “What will the rest of the journey be like? What will we do when we get to New York?”

Melchior ran his fingers through Wendla’s hair and smiled at her. “Well the boat ride to America is going to be long. It can be anywhere from 10 weeks to 3 months.”

“Three months?” Wendla sat up a little.

“Yeah, why?”

“Melchior, think. Three months from now I’ll be four months pregnant.”

Melchior looked at her and his eyes grew wide. “It’ll be obvious.” Wendla nodded. “Let’s hope for more like 10 weeks. Worse comes to worse we can just pretend you’re chubby.”

Wendla smacked him playfully and laid back down, but she still looked worried. Melchior resumed stroking her hair. “Don’t worry so much Wendla. It’ll all turn out fine.”

“I hope so. What will we do in New York?”

“We’ll get a house. I’ll get a job and you can stay home until the baby is born. Then we can use some of the money to pay for a babysitter or a nanny or something and you can go to school in the fall.”

“You’re just going to stop going to school?”

“I’ll see if we can manage it with work, but if we can only keep one of us in school, I’d rather it be you. I can learn from books and stuff. I want you to have friends other than me. I want you to be a regular teenager Wendla. I don’t want you to go crazy staying at home with a baby”

“What about you?”

“I’ll never be a regular teenager Wendla. I wasn’t a regular kid. And if it wasn’t for me, you’d still be a regular teenager and you’d still have your childhood. You deserve a regular life, and I’m going to make sure I can give you one.”

Wendla looked at him shrewdly and said, “You know what’s weird? So when our child is twenty, we’ll be thirty-four. If they have a kid then, we’ll be grandparents, and some of our friends might just be having kids. We created an extra generation in our family trees.”

Melchior laughed. “That is weird.”

Wendla sat up. “We should start a family record! A record of our life, you, me, and our baby. A record of our new lives as we move to America.”

Melchior pulled a notebook and a pen out of his school bag and handed it to Wendla. “Here, start it.” Wendla took the notebook and wrote on the first page, “Wendla Bergmann and Melchior Gabor Family Record.”

She looked up and said, “We should leave spaces for the English translations, because if our baby speaks English and German the baby’s baby might only speak English.” Melchior nodded. Wendla turned the page. “What would you want to know if you were our baby?”

“The rest of my family. Grandparents and such. What my parents’ hometown looked like, what their childhood was like, why they moved to America.” Melchior paused. “Maybe not too many details about that last thing.”

Wendla nodded and started writing. Melchior watched her. She had beautiful handwriting that looped and swirled elegantly. He reached under the seat and pulled a copy of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn out of his schoolbag. Melchior read while Wendla’s handwriting slowly filled every other page of their new family record. We’re going to be a family. We’re going to be alright.

About an hour and a half later, Wendla’s hand stopped moving and she smiled. Melchior closed his book and looked at her. “I finished,” she said.

He put his hand out and she handed him the notebook. “What’d you write?”

“Family trees for each of us up to our great-grandparents, descriptions of Aichtal including one from the tree, stories about playing with Ilse and Moritz, all the bad things that led to us running away, and the story of our journey up to here.”

Melchior flipped through the pages. “It’s really good Wendla. Descriptive and beautiful.”

“Baby names!”

“What?”

“We should brainstorm baby names!”

“In the book?”

“Why not?”

Melchior turned to a blank page, wrote “Baby Names” on the top, and divided the page into two halves. On one half he wrote “Boy” and on the other half he wrote “Girl.”

“Well if it’s a boy his middle name has to be Moritz, and if it’s a girl her middle name has to be Ilse.” Melchior wrote this in on the first line of the appropriate column. “I think we should give them American first names.

Melchior looked at her. “Like what?”

She shrugged. “Like Michael or Marie. Something that doesn’t make them stick out.”

“You don’t want our baby to stick out?”

Wendla laughed. “Melchior this baby is going to be so pretty and smart and happy that they’ll stick out already. We don’t need to add on to it.”

Melchior nodded. “Okay so we have Michael Moritz and Marie Ilse. What else?”

“Mary. Adam. Anna. Seth. Miriam. Jacob. Martha. Joseph. Rebecca. Eli.” Melchior scratched the names into the paper. “That’s all I have for now.”

Melchior closed the book and checked his watch. “It’s 13:00. We’re about fifteen minutes out of Paris. We get off the train, see when the next train north is, and I’ll change.”

They got off the train in Paris. The woman sitting next to them waved as Melchior and Wendla walked to the ticket counter. They bought two tickets for a one and a half hour train ride to Caen, France, a northern port city, and walked to their platform. Melchior discreetly changed his shirt and agreed to switch his pants, which were covered in dirt at the knees, on the train.

The train arrived and Melchior and Wendla found an almost empty car. Melchior sat down and changed his pants while Wendla stood in the aisle. The train started moving and Wendla sat down. “I wish we could spend time in Paris. It seems beautiful.”

Melchior looked out the window. “It really does. But we need to get to America first. Maybe someday, you and baby and I can all come back here.”

Wendla nodded, although a small part of her suspected they would never be back. She strongly suspected that they would never leave New York. The conductor came around and punched their tickets as the French countryside flew by the windows. Wendla laid down, putting her head in Melchior’s lap. She laid her hands on her stomach, and Melchior put one of his hands on hers. Wendla smiled at him. “If you could go anywhere, where would you go?” she asked.

“Anywhere you want to go.”

“That’s sweet, but it’s also not an answer.”

Melchior thought. “London, I think. So much history and so much beauty. Or at least that’s what the books say. What about you?”

Wendla thought. “Italy I think. Florence and Milan sound beautiful. Or maybe France. Just the small glimpse that we had in Paris was beautiful.” She sat up and grabbed Melchior’s shirt. “Oh Melchi. It’s just such a big world and I’ve seen so little of it. I don’t want to depend just on other people. I want to see the world!”

Melchior rubbed her shoulders. “I want you to see the world too. Maybe some day it’ll be easier to get from place to place. Hopefully we can see more of the United States once we get there. I mean, it stretches the whole continent. It’s a huge country. So much diverse land. You and baby and me riding around the whole continent on a train.”

“Yeah,” said Wendla, looking out the window, “Yeah, just wandering. I would love that. Wandering.”

Melchior watched Wendla as she looked out the window. She hasn't been like this when they were younger. This exuberant, this adventurous, this wild. He supposed she probably had been, but acted cautiously because of her mother. Mrs. Bergmann had been very restrictive. Of the four kids who climbed the tree behind Wendla’s house, she would've been in the most trouble for going up. Once Melchior and Moritz had turned thirteen, Mrs. Bergmann had all but forbidden Wendla from seeing them. So Wendla was very scared of getting in trouble and thus the most cautious and most well-behaved of the four of them. But now, hours and hours away from Aichtal and Mrs. Bergmann (who certainly must have found the letter by now, but Melchior pushed that from his mind. They didn't say where they were going, and they had a twelve hour head start.) Wendla finally seemed to have become who she was. Wendla was a fourteen year old girl who wanted to see as much of the world as possible before she was taken off it.

Wendla turned back from the window and looked at him, unsmiling. “My mother probably found the letter.”

Melchior nodded. “Are you worried?”

Wendla shook her head. “I'm with you. What in the world would I worry about?” But she still looked concerned, so Melchior searched for a different topic of conversation and found a question he'd had for a while.

“Did you ever kiss anyone else?”

Wendla looked at him and nodded.

“Who?”

Wendla blinked a few times, looked the other way, and said, “Hanschen,” very softly.

“I didn’t hear that.”

“Hanschen,” she said, loudly and clearly, still looking away. Wendla turned around and looked at Melchior, who was blinking rapidly.

“Ok. Ok. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that.” He paused, trying to be delicate, but desperate to confirm that Wendla liked him better. Melchior wanted to know, needed to know, that Wendla was running away with him because she loved him, not just because she was pregnant with his child. “Tell me about it.”

“Okay,” Wendla said, “Well we were talking one day and he said, very casually, ‘Have you ever kissed anybody Wendla?’ I said, ‘No, have you?’ He said no too, but he wanted to ‘practice,’” she put air quotes around the word, "so when he met the ‘right person’ he’d be good at it. I nodded, because that makes sense, right? So then he asked, just as casually, ‘Do you want to kiss me Wendla?’ He said my name too many times. Anyways, I asked him what he meant and he got really close and said, ‘I mean do you want to come over to my house after school and we can both learn how to kiss?’ I looked at him and nodded.”

Melchior was still clearly struggling with something. “But Hanschen? Wendla he’s a bit–“

“Of an ass, I know. But…”

“But what?”

“He’s um,” she cleared her throat and turned away again “He’s pretty cute.”

Wendla turned back around and saw that Melchior’s jaw had dropped when she said that. “Nothing on you of course! But like…second cutest. He was the second cutest boy in town.”

“Who was he practicing for?”

“I never asked.”

“Who were you practicing for?”

Wendla leaned forward so their noses were touching. “You.” She kissed him quickly and sat back. Melchior scratched the back of his head.

“Well, as much as I don’t like the idea of you kissing someone else, particularly Hanschen, it does have its benefits.” He leaned forward and kissed her.

“Did you ever kiss another girl?”

“Yes. Martha.”

“Martha? But she liked––”

“Moritz, I know. She told me after. It’s a really great feeling, to have a girl you just kissed say that she likes your best friend. It makes you think…”

“Think what?”

“Think maybe you’re just bad. Just a bad kisser or something.”

Wendla laughed. “You’re silly. You’re–” She paused. “You’re great at it.”

“Really?”

“I mean I don’t have much to judge against but….yeah. Really.” She leaned forward and kissed him, twirling her fingers into his hair. Melchior wrapped his arms around her and gently pulled her onto his lap. Wendla opened her mouth slightly and giggled before pressing her lips on Melchior’s. The train jumped and Melchior’s hand slipped between Wendla’s sweater and her shirt. Wendla jumped and pushed herself onto the seat next to Melchior, resting her face in her hands.

Melchior looked at her. No one had ever jumped away from him like that, so he had no idea what to do. He very slowly and tentatively reached out his arm and patted Wendla’s back. “I'm sorry.”

“For what? You didn't do anything. I just panicked. I'm sorry,” Wendla said through her hands.

“Don't be sorry for panicking. Everyone is entitled to panic every once in awhile.” Wendla laughed. Melchior was desperate to keep a conversation going, so he turned back to something he thought he didn't want to talk about. “You just kissed Hanschen right? Nothing else?”

“I would tell you if there was something else.”

“He didn't want you to do anything else?” In Melchior's experience, Hanschen was a smart guy who had no problem manipulating other people if it meant that he got what he wanted. To Melchior, Hanschen was the very embodiment of the ends justify the means. Wendla was smart, but she was also kind to a fault and more than a little bit of a pushover, the type of person that people like Hanschen thrived on.

“Did you want Martha to do other things?”

“No.”

Wendla picked up her head and looked at Melchior. “Do you want me to do other things?”

Melchior didn't answer. He just looked at Wendla, but his silence was answer enough. Wendla turned away again, seemingly talking to herself and the window. “I mean who doesn't want other things right? Everyone always wants something more. I mean he kind of hinted at it but I just ignored that because I wasn't ready.” She turned back to Melchior, an unfamiliar look in her eye, as if she was realizing what had happened and what they were doing for the very first time. “I love you Melchior.”

“I love you too Wendla.”

“For how long?”

“What?”

“How long have you loved me?”

Melchior thought about it. “I think I've always loved you in one way or another. We've known each other forever and we've been friends forever, so I think I've loved you forever.”

Wendla nodded. “The same for me.”

Melchior slowly reached his arm around Wendla, and she happily leaned into him, her head on his shoulder. “You and me and Ilse and Moritz,” said Melchior, “we could've all been in love at the same time and gotten married on the same day and then our kids could've grown up together but now…”

Wendla took hold of one of Melchior’s hands and gripped it tightly. “There won't be a day our baby doesn't hear the name Ilse or Moritz. We won't forget them. It'd be impossible.” Melchior nodded and both looked out the window, watching the sunlight stream down on the French countryside.

**Author's Note:**

> Contact me at hopingforaword.tumblr.com with prompts/ideas/comments. Thanks for reading!  
> This won't be updated for a while, but I might take it down and replace it with a Melchritz version of the same idea. The only plot difference would be that Moritz won't be pregnant, but I still have to change some things around


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